


We Were Younger in Our Daydreams

by wickersnap



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe: No Palpatine, F/M, Female Anakin Skywalker, Friends to Lovers, Good riddance, Jedi Code Who, Knight Anakin Skywalker, Pining, Requited Unrequited Love, don't ask why han and lando appeared I do not control the stupid ideas, he's dead or something, minor implied Han/Lando, she's mid to late twenties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:55:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25599931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickersnap/pseuds/wickersnap
Summary: Five times they skirted the problem, and the one time the definitely didn't. (Or Anakin didn't, at least).“A number of minutes slip by in the same manner as all the ones before: still, quiet, and with Anakin refusing to leave Obi-Wan’s lap while he does nothing to stop her.”
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Female Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 18
Kudos: 245





	We Were Younger in Our Daydreams

**Author's Note:**

> As much as I adore him as-is, I sure do love thinking about fem Anakin, which is undoubtedly part of some huge bi crush I have going on. I wanted some good old pining to soothe the soul, as you do, and ended up with an ending more explicit than I originally thought I would have (but I don't think I'll complain about that). I'll also apologise for my utter lack of starship knowledge (i.e. everything to do with that I pulled out of my arse) and the fact that I am apparently fine with inventing creatures and games but draw the line at actual planets. Yes, the grassy ocean planet is Kef Bir. I like references.  
> It also ended up about twice as long as I anticipated, whoops!  
> Anyway, I do hope you enjoy! I love these darlings so much.

1.

When Anakin is dropped abruptly out of sleep and into awareness, the first thing she notices is that she’s lying snugly amidst the familiar comforts of her bed in the Temple. The second thing she notices, when she moves her head a fraction into the pillow, is that everything kriffing _hurts._ If she didn’t remember exactly what she _had_ been doing last night, she’d be wondering how many rounds she‘d gone against the Warrior of Velusia, blindfolded and blocked off from the Force. As it is, she actually does remember, and with that knowledge comes the harsh truth that the throbbing through her temples and the leaden distaste of her limbs is all her fault. 

It takes her ten minutes to realise that no, her headache is not going to let her go back to sleep, and another ten to even attempt to lift her head to anything more inclined than horizontal. Everything screams in protest until she can summon enough willpower and concentration to pull the Force to herself thickly enough to abate some of the tension and the blasted, merciless ache berating her skull. Even then it’s a struggle to slink her trembling body into the ’fresher to clean up. 

The knock on her door almost an hour later is not unexpected; in fact, she’s surprised she’s been left to her own devices for this long already. She sighs and drags herself from her makeshift seat on a tool crate, plaiting her hair into a thick, damp braid in an attempt to keep the worst of the wetness off the back of her robes. She sighs again when the door slides open to welcome her former master’s best unimpressed look, tying off the end of the braid and letting it flump listlessly against her chest.

“My sincerest apologies, Master,” she says instead of the pointless platitude of her usual greeting. “I appear to have troubled you with my thoughtlessness once again.”

“A lack of foresight, to be sure,” Obi-Wan huffs. Fortunately, he does not seem to be too ruffled by it. “Though I would rather not be on the receiving end of another com from Commander Fox at five in the morning informing me that my former padawan and partner is passed out blind drunk on the Chancellor’s sofa.”

Anakin ducks her head and tries to curb the tempting twist of a smile that threatens her lips. “Then I shall endeavour not to repeat such an incident.”

Obi-Wan snorts gently and turns back into their living room to find a seat on their own sofa. “As you have said, may I remind you, several times before.” He picks up an active data pad and swipes through a number of screens. “I am sure Chancellor Amidala welcomes your friendship, Anakin, but you should see that you do not overstep too many boundaries.”

“She said she wanted company,” Anakin explains, somewhat sullenly. Her head still hurts, but she follows Obi-Wan into the room and slouches into the arm at the other end of the sofa. He lifts his attention from the data pad to raise a brow at her.

“If you’re in need of another reminder about attachments I am afraid I’ve grown rather bored of giving them, after so many years.”

“No!” she splutters. “No! I didn’t mean like that! The Chancellor is—we’re _friends.”_

The teasing grin he’s clearly been holding back grows wider as he watches her protests. “Oh? And here I thought Senator Amidala was an… what was it? _An angel sent by the heavens themselves to bless us with merely her presence alone,”_ he recalls. “Has that changed, recently?”

“Yes!” Anakin says. “Well—no, of course not. She’s still wonderful, of course, but she’s my _friend._ Stop being a creepy old man, Master.”

“I’m only drawing conclusions from the available data,” Obi-Wan replies with some amused relish. “What did she want the company for then, might I ask?”

“You know, chatting and stuff. Catching up.”

“Oh? Anything interesting?”

Anakin sinks lower into her seat and gives him a pointed look. “I meant chatting between _women._ It wasn’t strictly Jedi to Senator, exactly, either, and it would be a little beside the point if I told you now.”

Obi-Wan chuckles and holds up his hands in mock surrender. “All right, my apologies, I didn’t mean to offend. You can’t expect me to be omniscient, or to read your mind. At least not all the time.”

“Well, good!” Anakin tells him. “I don’t want you reading my mind. Except, you know, when it helps.”

Finally abandoning the pretence of reading, Obi-Wan sighs and sets the pad aside. “You are such an enigma, my dear. How am I supposed to know which way to go when you point me down both roads?”

Anakin almost pouts as she stares down his open warmth and easy comfort. Except she’s a Jedi Knight, and Jedi Knights do not pout. “You know what I mean,” she says instead. She drops her eyes to the long, gentle fingers that play so patiently along the backrest of the sofa. “You always know what I mean.”

“I’m fairly sure not even the most powerful of deities knows what you mean half the time, Anakin, but I do indeed understand. Now, how badly are you faring this morning? Or what’s left of it, at least. We can always visit Master Che before we head out—”

“I’m fine,” she says quickly. The space behind her right eye throbs nastily in response, but she wills it away and holds her former Master’s soft gaze steadily. “No Halls of Healing. I’m more than capable of flying us to… er…”

“Onderon?”

“Yes. Onderon. And back. Easy.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan teases, “but more importantly, will you be able to land us without crashing anywhere?”

“Oh, shut up,” she huffs, rising from the sofa and summoning her saber and boots from her room. “You’re just upset that last time was _your_ fault.” 

“A Jedi does not hold grudges, Anakin, and nor does he wallow in his own self-pity,” Obi-Wan replies without blinking at her blatant flippancy with the Force. “Besides, I distinctly remember your persistent efforts to antagonise our pursuers doing very little to aid in our escape. And now, if you don’t mind, I’d rather leave on time, today. You can com Commander Fox and the Chancellor to apologise once we’re en route.”

Anakin grumbles under her breath even as she follows him out into the Temple hallways. Despite the multitude of things she draws upon in her mutterings it still takes her an embarrassingly long time to realise that she hasn’t eaten breakfast, when they’re almost at the Temple’s hangar doors and the mess hall is long behind them. She sighs again feels her shoulders slump, already anticipating an uninspiring ration package from whatever crap they’ve stocked their ship with when two brightly wrapped protein bars appear under her nose. She takes them with a small noise of interest and blinks over at Obi-Wan’s wonderful smile.

“You got me my favourites,” she says, a little dumbfounded. “I didn’t know you’d been out to buy snacks, Master.”

“I thought I might as well while I was hauling your unconscious backside back from the Political Quarters. You never are particularly pleasant when hungover _and_ hungry.”

Anakin scoffs as she tears away the wrapper and relishes her first bite, ignoring the uncomfortable flushing of her face and neck. “Like you can talk. Not even Master Windu wanted to talk to you after we gave our reports for Dasoor.”

“A worthy sacrifice for the cause,” Obi-Wan argues, turning away to talk to a passing mechanic without waiting for her to reply. Anakin shoves the last half of the bar in her mouth and chews viciously, wondering if there will ever come a day where Obi-Wan _doesn’t_ have an answer for everything. If so, she doesn’t actually know if she wants to see it.

2.

The speeder ride across the city is only half an hour, maybe forty minutes. Of course, Anakin is already bored by the time they reach their first slow-crawl around the western education sector. The day is overcast and the humidity is on the rise, making her hair frizz and the layers of her tunics more uncomfortable than usual against the hot leather seats.

“Did you ever play games as a padawan, Obi-Wan?” she asks, tapping her fingers in idle rhythms on the steering rig.

“Of course,” Obi-Wan replies. “Cards were always popular, but we did have some quite intricate beq’quoit competitions.”

“Yeah, sure, I remember. I meant, like, word games though.”

“Like seeker spy?”

“I suppose. I was talking about the either-or, which-is-worse ones, though.”

Obi-Wan chuckles. “Yes, those always had some interesting results. I remember Quin once said he’d rather eat raw crocile eggs than free dive naked from the top of the tallest Temple spire. We almost made him do it, too.”

Anakin grins and tucks a stray hair back behind her ear. “Want to have a go?”

“At the word games? Maybe. Certainly not the diving or the egg-eating. Though I dread to think of what you might come up with.”

Hardly ever one to back down from a challenge, and especially not Obi-Wan’s apprehensive eyebrow raising, Anakin considers her possibilities carefully. “Try this one,” she says after a moment’s thought. “You’ll hate it. Fuck, marry or kill: Padmé, Senator Binks and Senator Organa.”

“You’re absolutely right, Anakin,” Obi-Wan replies, raising a hand to rub at his temples. “I do hate it.”

“Come on, _Master,_ just answer the question. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Anakin, we are Jedi. We do not condone the taking of innocent lives. How about _you_ answer that one.”

“All right then,” she says, barely repressing a snorting laugh. “I’d marry Padmé, no question. And since Senator Organa is quite captivating everywhere Senator Binks definitely isn’t, I think I’ll gladly say goodbye to the Gungan.” Obi-Wan nods consideringly. “Now your turn is going to be worse because you backed out, but you can’t do it again this time.”

Obi-Wan sighs and flaps a hand. “Go on, then. Out with it.”

Anakin grins, feeling the tingle of anticipation rising as she chooses her next victims—er, options. 

“Fuck, marry, kill, Master Yoda, Master Plo, or me.”

“No matter how beneficial I believe it may be for everyone else, Anakin, I think saying I’d kill you straight to your face is a bit much.”

Anakin presses a hand to her chest in mock hurt. “Really, Obi-Wan? Master Yoda? Remind me to bleach my brain when we get back to the Temple, please.”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes but does not disagree. “I think, Padawan, that you are straying towards the grounds of blasphemy.”

She laughs and slides the speeder over to avoid an impatient biker weaving between the lanes. “I haven’t been your padawan for a long time. And come on, it’s only a game! We can change kill to kiss if it offends you so much.”

“Then I feel we might reserve the least drastic of options for poor Master Yoda.” Despite his protests, Anakin would be hard-pressed to miss the amusement bleeding into the Force from her former Master.

“Oh, and I bet you’d rather marry Master Plo than me, of course? I’ve heard I’m a bit of a _difficult_ being to deal with.”

“Oh, do give yourself some credit, my dear. We already live and work together, would it really be such a difference?”

 _Yes,_ Anakin thinks and does not say. _Yes, it would, because a marriage is usually both kissing and fucking but under a pledge of love and committment for life, and we have none of that._

“I still think it’s funny that you won’t say ‘fuck’,” she says instead. Obi-Wan snorts and leans against the low door of the speeder, a few strands of his hair drifting delicately in the wind riding by. 

“I prefer to reserve such uncouth exclamations for situations where they might have a better impact.”

“Of course you do.”

 _Of course it would be such a difference,_ she _definitely_ doesn’t say, _because I wish that’s what you would truly want for us._

3.

“Obi-Wan,” she finds herself asking, and certainly not for the first time, “are you _sure_ you don’t know why she hates you so much?”

Obi-Wan sighs but does not halt the fingers slowly brushing through her hair. “No, Anakin, I’ve really no clue. I told you, three years ago now, that I would say if I thought of anything.”

Anakin harrumphs and turns to press her nose more firmly into the crease of his knee. Her cybernetic fingers trace the edges of his boots while they wait in this chilly metal cell together, her head in his lap and the rest of her sprawled gainlessly across the floor. She clamps stubbornly and harshly down on all of her urges to touch more, feel more, and blurt out stupid things that for some reason she thinks now may be a good time to spill, and the universe ticks on none the different for her odd internal turmoil. Obi-Wan, of course, is as collected as ever, cross-legged and feigning meditation with his shoulders square against the wall.

“While we’re here,” he says, “do remind me why you’re clinging to me like a cliff star instead of grousing in the corner like you usually do.”

Anakin shrugs and twitches the fingers of her other hand, tangled somewhere in the back of Obi-Wan’s robes where her arm has wrapped around him of its own accord.

“I don’t know, Master. I suppose I must have felt like it. I’m too comfortable to move now.”

“You don’t particularly _look_ comfortable,” he observes with audible amusement. She shrugs again and smirks.

“I’m flexible.”

A number of minutes slip by in the same manner as all the ones before: still, quiet, and with Anakin refusing to leave Obi-Wan’s lap while he does nothing to stop her.

“I hope she gets back soon so we can kick her ass,” she announces into the peace. “I’m gonna need to piss before long.”

Again, Obi-Wan sighs heavily. “Charming,” he replies.

“And isn’t it a shame, with a pretty face like that?” comes a cold, sibilant interjection from just out of view of the energy field facing their cell. 

Obi-Wan’s fingers still in Anakin’s hair. “I see you’ve finally decided to join us, Asajj.”

“Oh yes, Kenobi,” replies Asajj Ventress, stepping up to sneer at them with all of her jumped-up superiority. “I couldn’t leave my most esteemed guests waiting for so long. I must say, though, this is not quite what I was expecting.”

“Expecting?” Anakin growls. She pushes herself up to sit beside Obi-Wan. “What exactly would you be _expecting_ other than us? You’re barely holding us here, after all—we still have full access to the Force.”

“I drugged you,” Ventress sidesteps bluntly. “No need to panic, just something light. An experiment of mine, you could call it. It softens a being’s inhibitions. It was such tempting fun for playing with both the bloodthirsty and the Jedi, you see.”

“I’m sorry?” Obi-Wan says. “You’ve _lowered our inhibitions?_ What could you have possibly hoped to have gained from that?”

“Fun, Kenobi.” When Ventress smiles, Anakin has learnt not to look too closely. “You asked what I had been expecting. To answer your question—significantly more clothing on my floor.”

Anakin snorts and rises to her feet to pace so that she does not simply crack and grab hold of what the image suggests. “Your games are played in vain, Ventress. We are Jedi.”

Ventress laughs. It’s a high and cruel sound. “And therefore professionals in repression and denial. Yes, is that what you tell yourself, little girl?” she asks. “Is that what you tell yourself while you—”

Anakin snarls and storms up to the energy field, slamming her fist against it in a ripple of sparking light. 

“What the hells are you playing at?” she spits. “What do you want from us?” 

Ventress grins down at her, unperturbed. 

“Must I repeat myself over and over like a broken holorecord? I said _fun,_ Skywalker, which of course includes the possibility of blackmail for you and your precious Council. You, however… I expected more interesting things from you and your _Master.”_

“Don’t speak about Obi-Wan like that!”

Without warning the energy field dissipates and Anakin stumbles forward. Ventress shoves her back into the cell with a generous application of the Force and steps through to leer at how she’s sprawled on her ass on the floor. “Obi-Wan has a mouth with which to defend himself, child. I suggest you go back to playing house instead of hero and let the adults have a chat.”

“I’m hardly a kriffing _child!”_ she snaps. “Stop messing around—”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says quietly.

“But Obi-Wan—”

“It’s all _right,_ Anakin.”

“Yes, yes, it’s all all right,” Ventress simpers sarcastically. “Listen to your Master and run along now, Anakin.”

“You absolute—” Anakin is stopped from throwing herself at the stupid, self-important atmo stealer by the searing red blade that slices the air in front of her throat.

“Sit.” Anakin glowers and lowers herself back to the floor. Their captor smiles. “Stay. I won’t ask you to roll over. Not yet.”

“Do you need to be so crass, Ventress?” Obi-Wan asks dryly.

“Oh, don’t tell me the great Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi _cares_ about people,” she crows. “No, don’t tell me you’ve come to care for your little whore—” (Anakin doesn’t miss how Obi-Wan bristles at her words, how his fists tighten against knees that strain to remain in place crossed on the floor) “—that _is_ why you’ve kept her around, isn’t it? She can hardly be good for your reputation, as reckless and stupid as she is.”

“Anakin is a brilliant Jedi and an even better swordsman,” he replies calmly. “As much as it is against our way to admit such a thing, she is my absolute pride and joy. You disrespect her greatly to treat her in such a way.”

Ventress lowers herself to a crouch in front of him, her saber trained evenly and precisely on Anakin’s neck. “It’s cute that you think I care, Kenobi,” she sighs. “And here I really thought you two would put on _such_ a good show for us…” She reaches out a thin, silver-pale hand to ghost bold and definitely breakable fingers over Obi-Wan’s cheek. “It’s a shame. I would have liked to know just how you would have made her take you in this rather… _limiting_ space.”

While Obi-Wan’s eyes narrow, Anakin’s fly wide. What Ventress is saying… What it sounds like she means… And yet Anakin must be misinterpreting her implications, must be twisting the circumstances through her stubborn, wishful thinking, because if anything were to happen she knows for certain that it would be entirely her own willfulness that causes it.

Finally at the end of her tether, she tunes them out and waits until she’s sure Ventress’ attention is focused as much as it will be on Obi-Wan before gathering the Force to her whim and slamming it roughly into her. She collapses to the durasteel a dead weight, out cold.

“Mind your anger, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says with little real reprimand in his tone. “That was a little much for an induced slumber.”

“She deserves it,” Anakin mutters. _“Playing with Jedi…_ She’ll get what’s coming to her.”

Unfolding himself from his seat on the floor at long last, Obi-Wan stretches out arms she thinks she’d really like to be held by before turning to her and smiling as if nothing of the last ten minutes has just occurred. “What say we find our sabers and make our overdue exit?”

Anakin shrugs. “Maybe we’ll find wherever she’s keeping this drug while we’re at it.”

He hums and heads out into the corridor of this strange prison place. “A good call, my dear. Shall we?”

Anakin sighs and starts after him. What happens off-world stays off-world, she supposes glumly. Still…

“Any chance we can keep some of this inhibition inhibitor to use on Vos next time he tries dredging up whatever dirt he thinks he has on us?”

4.

As should surprise just about absolutely no one, Anakin and Obi-Wan are, once again, crashing.

“Are you sure that wasn’t anything vital?” Obi-Wan shouts over the din of the stabilising system alarm. They watch several thousand glittering shards of sensor array scatter themselves across their ship’s viewport in a number of concerning shrieks.

“Pretty sure,” Anakin replies, quickly minimising the alerts reporting their failing starboard subluminals. The steering yoke shudders beneath her hands as she tries her damnedest to keep them above the raging ocean waves and in one piece. The pirates on their tail seem to be trying to undermine her every effort, not that that’s surprising, either. “I don’t think we can stay up much longer.”

“Look,” Obi-Wan points to a far edge on the viewport. “Over there, there’s some sort of land.”

Anakin grits her teeth and prepares the ship as best she can for their imminent crash landing. More and more warning lights are vying for her attention by the minute, each attended to in turn by Obi-Wan before they can drive them both mad. The brake thrusters are responding sluggishly and ineffectually, pitching them off towards the starboard side and then jerking them up by the nose.

“Hold onto something,” she warns as the landmass grows rapidly outside, the waves of its wretched ocean exploding against its cliffs at half speed. Beyond that is an endless, rolling expanse of green (grassland, she presumes) darkened to heather grey beneath the overcast sky. Of course, she doesn’t really care about any of that for the moment, because the ground is coming up to meet them much more quickly than she would like and there is kriff-all that she can do about it. She yanks once on the clip of her acceleration belt to check it’s secure before glancing over to check on Obi-Wan before they—

Before they hit the ground at a bone-quaking velocity.

For the first time in almost fifteen minutes the cockpit is silent. Anakin realises she’s hanging sort of sideways in her chair when she opens her eyes, then realises that the _ship_ is listing sideways when the ground outside is not quite where it should be. Sound comes back slowly as the ringing in her ears lessens, and the beeping accompanying the flashing red and yellow warning lights comes gradually back into focus. The sharp smell of scorched electronics clings to the air around her.

“—nakin! Anakin, are you all right?”

Anakin jerks her head to the side and winces when a sharp knife blade of pain races down her spine. “Master?” she croaks, a little surprised to see Obi-Wan already out of his seat and pulling her out of hers. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Anakin,” he huffs. “I’m asking if _you’re_ all right. You may have hit your head when the overhead console fell in.”

“Oh,” she says, beginning to regain awareness of her limbs where they’ve tensed painfully to brace. “I think I’m fine.”

“Hey!” calls out a new voice from outside. “Anyone still alive in there?”

“Locals?” Anakin asks. Obi-Wan grimaces. 

“More likely our pirate friends, I think.”

“Oh good, someone we can blame for this mess.”’

Obi-Wan takes her hand and helps haul her out of the half-collapsed cockpit. The rear of the ship has mostly survived, ignoring the shattered equipment strewn across the floor, except for rather a large gash in the portside hull. They pick their way through the rubble towards it and peer through; another ship has landed not two hundred feet away, a hulking great shadow that leers over the lonely figure standing in the grass between them.

“Anyone?” the probable pirate calls again.

“Yeah!” Anakin shouts back irritatedly. “No thanks to you!”

“Well come out where I can see you!”

Obi-Wan sighs and rolls his eyes when Anakin immediately unclips her lightsaber and begins tossing it threateningly into the air. He climbs out of the hole first and leaps the several metres down to the ground. Anakin follows, saber still prominently in hand, and they make their way over to the ass that’s just grounded them on this faraway backwater moon.

“Do you have our coordinates?” Obi-Wan asks quietly. Anakin taps her com to save them into her history and nods.

“How annoyed do you think Master Windu will be when we com the Temple?”

“No more than usual, I’m sure.”

They come to a stop a few paces away from the man who’s come out to meet them. He’s young—painfully young, actually—human, and looking a lot less sure of himself than he sounded a few minutes ago. He has a blaster on each hip and a deep frown on his face, and though his ship’s ramp is lowered not far behind him, if there’s anyone else aboard they haven’t come out to greet them.

“Hey kid,” is what Anakin opens with. “What the karking hell’s your problem?”

“You’re Jedi,” the boy says blankly. “This wasn’t—you weren’t supposed to be _Jedi.”_

“Good to know our reputation precedes us. What are you, anyway? Like, fifteen?”

“Eighteen!” he corrects snappishly. “But they told us you were some rich assholes looking for a joyride!”

“You don’t seem particularly prepared for any kind of confrontation,” Obi-Wan remarks.

“I can handle myself thanks,” he retorts, “—but that’s not the point!”

“So this was a job?” Anakin clarifies. “You didn’t just pick on us for fun?”

“Yeah. Well, it was supposed to be.” The kid grumbles something at the floor and his eyebrows furrow an impossible fraction more—Anakin might laugh if she weren’t still so annoyed. “Now we’ve gone and got ourselves tangled with the peace police…” he mutters. “I knew this was too far out to be legitimate… Damn stupid for trusting that half rusted bloody woman.”

“Eh,” Anakin says, clipping her saber back onto her belt and flicking a hand back towards their crashed ship. “Could’ve been worse. Could’ve been one of the expensive models. _Or_ it could’ve been one of those Sigmas with the shitty propulsor couplings—that model would’ve had us straight in the water before we’d even seen land.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan murmurs. “This still doesn’t change the fact that—”

“You the pilot?” the kid asks. “That was some great flying up there.”

“Thanks,” she snorts. “You got a name, kid?”

“Han,” says, apparently, Han. “And look, I’m sorry about this misunderstanding, we don’t want any trouble with you Jedi types. There must be something we can do to—”

“Han!” shouts another new voice from inside the pirates’ freighter. “What the hell’s takin’ so long?”

Han turns with a grimace towards the ship’s gangway. “You’d better get your ass down here, Calrissian! This job’s not what we were told it was!”

There’s a loud crash inside the ship. A few moments later, another man barely older than Han descends the ramp. This one’s a lot less scruffy, with much neater hair and beard and boots, and is wearing a very nice looking cloak. Expensive, probably sand silk, and hiding at least three blasters.

“What’s going on down here?” the Calrissian man asks. “Who are—wait a minute, this ain’t right!”

“They’re Jedi,” Han tells him. “Friza lied.”

“She damn sure did!” Calrissian spits. He turns abruptly to Anakin and Obi-Wan and gives them a handsome smile that’s a far cry from his ire of a split-second ago. “We’re terribly sorry for the confusion, folks, we’d hate to be getting in your way. Is there somewhere we can take you? As an apology? Compensation?”

“We were on our way back to Coruscant, actually,” Obi-Wan says. Han and Calrissian exchange a subtle, uncomfortable look. Anakin doesn’t blame them—fuel is damn well expensive these days.

“But Mid Rim will do, won’t it Master?” she says. Obi-Wan does not outwardly show any of his exasperation, but doesn’t hesitate to send it down to her through their bond.

“Mid Rim will do,” he agrees. “Somewhere we can get to an outpost and a secure line back to the Council would be best.”

“You need only give us the word and we shall take you there,” Calrissian says. He steps forward and takes Anakin’s hand, bringing the backs of her fingers to his mouth to press a kiss to them. “My name is Lando Calrissian, My Lady, and this is the _Millennium Falcon._ Please, come aboard.”

“Knight Skywalker,” Anakin replies, unimpressed, but allows him to lead her up the landing ramp. “And this is Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“If you have anything left in that ship I’ll go and get it for you,” Han says loudly. She glances over to see his shoulders have hunched over his crossed arms.

“I don’t think so,” she muses. “It’s a good thing we didn’t bring Artoo, huh… Did you have anything, Master?”

“No,” Obi-Wan says sharply. She realises then that the irritation she’s feeling is not her own but _his,_ spilling down the bond. When she turns to apologise, however, she finds he is not glaring at her but Lando Calrissian.

“Is everything all right?” 

Obi-Wan looks up at her, lifting his eyebrows as if rousing from deep thought. “Quite, yes. Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?”

“I’m fine, Obi-Wan,” she smiles. “I promise.”

Han closes up the ramp behind them while Lando leads them into the main hold of the ship. The _Millennium Falcon_ gleams with new plasteel and the fresh smell of leather seats, all singing of a recent remodelling. Even with all the excitement of a new ship feel Anakin’s gaze can’t help but be drawn to the small unit in the wall of consoles, adjacent to the seating area Lando is introducing them to.

“Hey, is that the new model InsTex internal cortex frequency hopper?” she asks, stepping over to peer more closely at its steady display. 

“Absolutely,” Lando tells her proudly. He steps up to her side and leans in to boot the console. “Got her about six cycles ago for a job near Keitum.”

“Awesome,” she murmurs. “I haven’t seen one in person yet. Does she really—?”

A warm hand lands on her lower back, firm yet non-intrusive. “Come and sit down, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says. “Han has told me we’ll be lifting off soon.”

Anakin frowns at him a little as he guides her back to the booth with the highly polished dejarik table. He still doesn’t look happy, but she can’t for the life of herself understand _why;_ he’s never been particularly cut up about any of their crashed ships before, and they’ve already completed the mission they’d set out to accomplish. Why would this time be any different? They haven’t even had to fight anyone to escape, surely he should be somewhat appeased!

Regardless she lets him nudge her into a seat and locate the acceleration belts, strapping herself in absently. Lando excuses himself and disappears in a whirl of rich blue sand silk. It’s not until the sounds of annoyed arguing rattle back to them from the cockpit that she notices Obi-Wan’s hand has moved from her back to her knee… And isn’t that bizarre. 

“Maybe if you didn’t spend so much of your time flirting with _every damn pretty sentient being we come across!”_ comes another of Han’s growling outbursts. Anakin snorts at the thought, imagining Lando doing just that while his grouchy first mate looks on from the sidelines.

“Jealous, much,” she says conspiratorially to Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan, whose hand strays up her thigh when he hums in agreement as if he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it. Obi-Wan, whose fingers brush the inseam of her jodhpurs and send a bolt of golden heat right through her core and into the pit of her stomach. 

She jumps a little at the shock of it, barely containing her squeak of surprise. _Holy stars,_ is pretty much her only coherent thought before she manages to throw up her shields and prevent the unfortunate leak of her sudden and intense spike of arousal.

“Anakin?” he asks. “Are you all right? You aren’t actually hurt anywhere, are you?”

“I’m fine,” she assures him hurriedly. It’s a bit difficult to stay so still and not have it come off as suspicious, but in the end it’s to little avail; Obi-Wan’s hand twitches again and she practically squirms in her seat, forcing her thighs together and feeling her neck grow very warm indeed. Force, just take her now.

Obi-Wan snatches his hand out of her lap with an expression that screams ‘Oh Shit’ better than any she’s seen before. When he clears his throat and mumbles, “Ah, sorry,” Anakin begins praying in earnest for the ground—or ship—to swallow her whole.

“It’s nothing,” she says. And it’s not, but she tells herself it is until they’re off the forgotten, sodden bore of a planet they’ve found for themselves and far, far away from the Endor System. It’s not until later, when they’re back in home skies with Han and Lando’s com frequencies in their pockets, that it occurs to her that Obi-Wan had stood just as close to her shoulder as Han had to Lando’s while he was sulking.

5.

Anakin steps behind the delicate, gilded folding screen as Obi-Wan ventures farther into the room. The night is warm and the Diktat’s palace warmer, and she’s almost too enthusiastic to be rid of her clothes, itching to free herself of the stifling and heavy velvet. Itching to ease the path of her legs from the ridiculous skirts her undercover persona demands. 

Skirts. Damned kriffing inconveniences in any situation. 

She scrabbles at the back of her neck for the slippery little fastenings. It was bad enough relearning how to clip her bra with her new cybernetics—these tiny bastards are entirely uncalled for. She can almost hear them mocking her out of spite. At least she had help putting the damn thing on; now she finds herself swearing under her breath when the topmost one refuses to release. Her hair, left loose, has grown long and continues to slip back into her way. The strain of her contortion in such a restricting piece is heightening her sense of claustrophobia, raising her body temperature and chafing the coarse chiffon edging across her neck all at once. She wouldn’t be surprised if the next mirror would show her face as blotchy red and panicky.

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan calls. “Is everything all right?”

“Just about,” she replies tersely. “It’d be better if I wasn’t in this stupid dress.”

Either she’s too distracted to notice or the carpet is thick enough to mask his footsteps—they’ll have to look out for that one—because suddenly his voice sounds an awful lot closer than it had a second ago.

“Would you like some help?” he asks. He sounds amused. Anakin is not in agreement with such mirth, but she’s already crossed over from irritated to just plainly embarrassed. All but the last damn hook.

“Please,” she says quietly. A little breathless. She drops her hands back to her sides, though in her anticipation they refuse to sit there for long and instead clasp in front of her. The tall neck of the dress stops cutting into her throat as the strain lessens and she can lift her chin, but the heat in her cheeks remains just as uncomfortable as ever. 

It shouldn’t be sudden when warm fingers brush against the nape of her neck, and yet it is. They gather her hair to one side with so much care before they take hold of either edge of the tricky collar, and Anakin barely dares to release her next breath. The clasp does part for Obi-Wan, but it is reluctant. Any other time she might take solace in that, but right now she is all too focused on the ghosting touch between her shoulder blades. The radiating warmth of a wrist farther down her spine.

Anakin turns, slowly. More slowly than she thinks she’s ever done anything. She’s conscious of her multitude of ridged and pinking scars and the mismatched patches of colour all over her skin, but at the same time this is Obi-Wan, and _because_ it’s him they don’t quite seem to matter. Obi-Wan himself is a scant few inches behind her, gorgeous blue gaze sharp and burning where it follows the line of her neck. His simpler silk tunic sits open halfway down the chest and his hair is only just falling out of its meticulous grooming. Poised. Alluring. 

Tempting.

Anakin lets the dress fall from her almost without thought. It’s a sleeveless thing, slipping to her waist without preamble and then over her hips, down her thighs when she exhales her wonderment. Pooling on the floor over her bare feet. She doesn’t miss the way Obi-Wan’s eyes flick down to follow it, even for the briefest moment. 

Realistically the room is neither too cool nor too hot but here, naked in front of him, she feels both of those all at once. The hairs on her shoulders rise and send a wave of shivers down both arms. Both her breath and Obi-Wan’s fan out over her shoulders, her clavicles, dipping between her breasts—

“They left our night clothes on our beds,” Obi-Wan says. He clears his throat once, and whatever moment they had stretching between them shatters and falls to the ground a glittering memory. It shakes Anakin out of her daze enough to make her swallow down the knot of anticipation in her chest. “I’ve left yours on the chair just here. I’ll be in the bedchamber if you need me.”

“Of course,” she replies, though the words stick in her throat somewhat. With fresh awareness that she’s still standing here, completely naked, she feels suddenly very stupid. She turns away before he does in the vain hope of hiding her welling self-hatred and humiliation. Now she’s hyper aware and considering curling up on the floor to cry, she can hear his every step on the way to the bedroom through the next door.

 _It shouldn’t mean anything,_ she tells herself. _What does it matter if he doesn’t want you, even when you thought he did? You’re not even allowed to want him in the first place._

It doesn’t matter, comes the silent reply. It still hurts.

+1.

When Obi-Wan wakes, his breathing is unsteady and laboured. The moonlight slipping through the cracks in his blinds well illuminates a familiar shape perching on the side of his bed. It moves slowly, reaching out with gentle fingers to brush the hair out of his eyes.

“Anakin?” he rasps. After the dream he’s just had—the terrible, unprofessional, perverse, _tantalising_ dream—he is entirely unprepared to face her so soon.

“You called?” she replies teasingly. His eyes begin adjusting to the darkness quickly enough to catch her beaming grin before it settles into a smirk.

“No, I—”

“It’s all right, Obi-Wan,” she says. “I’m here. I know.”

Noticing the revealing position of his bedsheets, Obi-Wan lifts a knee and rises onto an elbow in an attempt to conceal the remnants of his guilty indulgence. He squints up at her in her nightshirt which, oh Force, is an old one of _his._ It’s soft and ancient and thinner than flimsiplast, though the fact that it’s nearly see-through is almost easy to overlook when one considers the way it drapes, gaping from her shoulders as if threatening to drop to her thighs at any moment. Her hair falls in gorgeous curls around her face and tickles her collar, and all in all he thinks she makes too beautiful of an image for even the most disciplined of Jedi to ignore.

“You were calling for me,” she says softly, as if such a notion doesn’t make Obi-Wan’s heart stop in his chest and his hand fly to cover his mouth. “No, not like that. Well, not just like that.” 

The controlled flame of her Force presence reaches around his without preamble. He shudders from the warmth, the gentle caress… The faint lick of heat that has more to do with human biology than her tumultuous emotions.

“I’m sorry,” he stammers out immediately. “I’m so sor—my sincerest apologies, Anakin, I—that was horribly inappropriate and should never have happened and I—”

“I know how much you want me.” It’s blunt, it’s to the point, and it’s an indisputable statement. It puts Obi-Wan’s hammering heart in his throat and his fear, his fight or flight at the front of his mind, and yet still he doesn’t move. Petrified. “I’m not going to play around any more, Obi-Wan. You want to have sex with me.” She scoffs lightly and continues over his pathetic beginnings of protest. “Judging by your feeling in the Force right now, you want to fuck me right through the mattress, or into the nearest wall, which is preferable to the table by the way, until I can’t walk. When I tie my hair up you want to pull it back until I give you my throat, all of it, just for you. You seem to want to be under me just as much as on top of me. Or behind me. Honestly, the thought of any of those is pretty overwhelming.”

“Anakin, Anakin, I—”

“You were trying to pull me into your dreams just now, Master,” she says, leaning further down over him and lowering her voice, forcing him to look her dead in the eye because otherwise he’ll be able to see _straight down her—_ “It’s why I woke up.”

“Oh, bloody hell, no—”

“Civvies are a good look on you, I know I’ve said it before. Though I think you were exaggerating my, uh... _allure.”_

He pauses in his panic, unable to keep himself from giving her a dry look. “Really? Really, Anakin? I know modesty is a virtue, but considering just how inappropriate the entire topic of this conversation is—”

Anakin snorts lightly and sits back. Obi-Wan can’t help but watch the way the material of his shirt catches across her chest. “I’d argue you started it, Master, but then I think I’d be lying. I’m surprised I wasn’t the one to do it first.”

“What?” he asks. “Do what?” 

“Draw you into one of my inappropriate dreams,” she drawls sardonically. “Or even the fantasies. Force knows how strong our bond is. Why else do you think I learnt to shield so well?”

“Because you were a good, dedicated student.”

“And yet I only really put the effort in when I was scared my thoughts might slip on over to you. The ones where I ended up naked in your bed, the naughtiest of padawans. Or the ones where I had my face pressed against the ’fresher wall, or with my lips wrapped firmly around your—”

“Stop,” Obi-Wan says. The cadence of his voice is loud in the room, a sharp knife through the quiet tension that lingers like mist. His fingers have found his way to Anakin’s mouth and are resting gently there in nonverbal command; at least, they are until her tongue darts across them and tries to bring them into her mouth. He snatches his hand back, shocked by the brand of her tongue. 

“Please tell me this is just another bad dream.”

Anakin snaps out her left hand to pinch the skin of his bicep painfully between her fingernails. “Not a dream. It shouldn’t even be a bad one, Master, that’s terribly rude. I told you I’m not playing anymore, and here I am, about to pour my heart out to you…”

Obi-Wan shifts uncertainly. She sighs, and _stars,_ even under the circumstances she’s still the most incredible being he’s ever seen.

“I do it on purpose when I tie my hair back. Especially when it’s tight. Always wondering how long until you snap and do what you want to me anyway, make me submit, make me... Well.” Obi-Wan swallows the heat that rises in the pit of his stomach as she switches gears. “You know, I was considering joining you in your dream. I wasn’t sure if you’d notice if I slipped into that version of me, the one you had over the back of the sofa as you knelt behind her. I didn’t think it would be very honest, though. I’d feel guilty. So I came here instead. Because I think I’ve waited long enough.”

He barely dares to ask it, but with the way his head spins from the onslaught of knowledge and vivid, vivid imagery, the words sort of slip out without his meaning them to. 

“And how long is that?”

“Oh no,” she laughs. “Oh no, no, no. If I told you I’m sure you’d scold me for real, no matter how many times I told you I loved you. Maybe more because of it. But no. Just know that it’s been a while. More than enough to drive me here now.”

“You—you… _Love?”_

Anakin smiles and gently smoothes her fingers through his hair. “I love you, Obi-Wan. I always have and I always will. Even if now is a little different from where we started.”

She drops, abrupt in her collapse, to lie down on the bed beside him. She stretches languidly, her contentment and anticipation radiating out through the Force. He can feel acutely everywhere her body presses against his while her metal fingers idly skim the lines of his chest uncovered by the sheet.

“I’ve always wanted to tell you that,” she whispers. “Always, no matter the Code. I love you, Obi-Wan. I really do.”

“I…” Obi-Wan stammers. What does he say? How does he reply? If he tells the truth he goes against everything he’s ever known, ever striven to be. If he lies, not only will she know but she’ll be _heartbroken,_ truly, because when Anakin falls she falls completely and unreservedly. She might never trust him again. He’ll _lose_ her.

“Anakin…”

“It’s all right,” she says. Her eyes shine in the low light. Her smile softens to something sad, something hopeless, and it’s painful for him to watch. “I’ll go if it’s what you really want. But I needed to tell you. I love you, Obi-Wan.”

He can’t say it. He knows he can’t. Not yet, not now, when he’s been doing all he can to ignore his feelings and push them away. He can’t say it, so instead he reaches for their bond. He drops his shields to her, picks out all of the things he can’t verbalise and presents them wrapped in apology and guilt. That’s all it takes to lift the sadness from her lips, apparently, as her Force signature lights up with joyful incredulity even more blinding than usual. Her shields all but shatter under the weight of all of her love and pain and adoration as it pulses around her, jubilant, perfectly in time with the heartbeat he can feel against his upper arm. 

She carefully takes his admission in hand, unwrapping and inspecting every layer like maybe she’s waited for it her whole life. Waves of reassurance and adulation wash his guilt back into the farthest reaches of his mind. It settles there, diminished and appeased and directing a new path for the heavy weight of relief that lifts from his shoulders.

Physically Anakin lies beside him with her eyes tight shut while she loses herself in the Force. It’s a simple and effortless kind of meditation she seems to achieve without ever realising, and Obi-Wan doesn’t know of anyone else capable of such a method. Watching it amazes him every time. He can feel her delving through his thoughts and his wants with glee, the fingers around his bicep and on his chest twitching and clenching with every new revelation. 

He knows immediately when she’s back in the land of the living, because, quite without warning, there are soft, warm lips pressed to his own. Her kiss is still hesitant, slow and light until he turns towards her and pulls her in. There’s no use trying to keep himself from something the both of them want so badly, he tells himself as his arm loops around her waist. Her skin sears against his where her nightshirt rides up, exposing her stomach and back. Her ankles slip between his and over the stretches of leg his own sleeping trousers don’t cover. Her mouth parts then, pleading with his for deeper attentions with a tongue tracing along his lower lip. It’s like he’s powerless to refuse, giving in to her demands one after another because he _wants,_ he wants it so badly and to know that she does too. To know he’s not going mad and he’s not a creepy, unwanted advancement is just about the best thing he’s heard all decade.

Anakin rises faster than he can process, swinging her leg over his waist and sitting on top of him with a smug grin and a plan of attack clicking together like a jigsaw inside her mind. It’s only when she sits back against him that he realises— _holy hells_ —that she really isn’t wearing anything other than that shirt. 

“You’ve got me, Master,” she says cheekily. “Now, what are you going to do with me?”

“Let’s not rush, Anakin,” he replies. “Let’s… Let’s take it slowly, yes?”

“You’re no fun,” she decides, though she’s grinning and lowering herself down to lie on her front on top of him. Her hair settles around their shoulders in a soft curtain of curls and she kisses him again, walking her fingers down his sides while his hands slide up her bare, tan thighs. Smooth metal slips beneath the waistband of his trousers and pushes them down until he kicks them away, reaching beyond for his evident erection and curling around it tauntingly.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan murmurs. She shushes him softly and tilts their heads back together, beginning to feel her way around him in slow strokes that really—Force help him.

“Is this all right?” she asks. He can feel his beard rasp across her face as she talks. _Is this all right?_ What a bloody question. Instead of responding he lets one hand drift up the side of her ribs beneath the shirt, his fingers dipping into every ridge and relishing each shiver it pulls from her. The swell of her slight breasts is irresistible and smooth, perfect and emphatic where she’s pressed up against him. The tip of one mechanical finger drags down the underside of his cock and he groans, thumb working between their bodies to rub against her heated nipple.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin mumbles into his mouth. Her hips are moving in small, aborted motions and he knows, he can feel her arousal bleeding through their bond, that she is doing her level best to resist grinding into him for any number of unfathomable reasons. His fingers knead her thigh with increasing certainty, inching towards the slick centre of her heat hovering over him. He takes her breast in hand and traces rings enough to find her sensitive spots and his mouth leaves hers for a brief reprieve to kiss down her jaw instead. 

It seems Anakin gives up on her teasing when her hand wraps full around his shaft and begins to pump up and down in earnest. She twists her wrist at unexpected intervals and drags her palm over the head, coaxing wrung noises from Obi-Wan’s throat to her obvious satisfaction. Sitting up she detaches herself from Obi-Wan’s grip, shuffling back and resituating herself atop his legs so she no longer has to reach blindly backwards to touch him. Her shirt swoops down even lower from one shoulder as she leans over him, her full focus now on his flushed cock. One hand works along his shaft while the other does who-knows-what to the inside of his thigh, and the sway of her breasts between both movements is outlined by the thin fabric drifting over them. The ends of her hair tickle his hips when she leans down and licks cautiously at the tip, and Obi-Wan stifles a grunt and resists the temptation to tangle his fingers in the thick strands. She hums around him, then, and his knee jerks up when her head dips lower to take him further.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan gasps.

“That’s me,” she replies distractedly. “Is this good?”

“Yes, Anakin.” He slams his head back into the pillow as she closes her lips around him again and sucks. “You’re so good, always so good for me.”

Anakin grins at that, slipping out of rhythm when she tries to increase the pace. Obi-Wan sees her arse rise and shoulders dip as she rearranges her body to better angle herself, the nightshirt sliding easily down the path of her spine to reveal more of her beautiful mottled skin. 

Time becomes a finicky thing as he watches her. She seems content enough—enthusiastic, even, to experiment on Obi-Wan. Several times she pulls back coughing, or gags when she lowers herself too far, and against all rational thought it only serves to turn him on even more. She’s hardly quiet as she works anyway, but Anakin has never been able to stay silent for any length of time. Obi-Wan thinks he’d be rather lost without her usual chatter and commentary or, right now, the adorable and extremely arousing noises he’s learning from her in equal measures of guilt and overbearing happiness.

“Anakin,” he grits out in warning. “Anakin!”

“Is it good, Master?” she asks again. She looks bizarrely innocent as she pushes up on her elbows to see him, her lips puffy and wet and her eyes wide with hope. 

“Of course, dear one,” he manages. He forces himself to sit up and bat away her hands to finish himself off—hell if he wants to deal with the mess he’d be sure to make of her this late at night. She watches, grinning evilly from between his legs. She’s not his darling padawan anymore, nor the naive youngster she was when she was knighted at twenty, and yet in truth she’s barely changed at all. She drinks in the sight of Obi-Wan coming apart because of her, always because of her, and practically radiates smugness through the Force when he closes his eyes and shudders and comes in his hand.

“That was hot,” she tells him. 

He looks up at her incredulously and, between breaths, says, “Thank you for the assessment.”

“Oh, come on! Don’t be a killjoy,” she whines. To add to her pouting she crawls back up his lap and threatens to grind herself against his thigh. “I’ve not seen you like this before, after all.”

While the come dries on his right hand, Obi-Wan uses his left to trail light fingers from her throat down her sternum. He continues over the nightshirt, down the valley between her breasts that had so tempted him that night they had both posed as elites on Corellia and he hadn’t been able to resist helping her undress. (He’d argued that she’d needed it, at the time, and then rationalised every movement that had transpired until he no longer felt so guilty recalling the slope of each of her curves at night.) He continues down, down, into the pit of her navel where he swirls his touch once to make her squirm before following onto the home stretch, the fuzz of hair peeking out beneath the shirt that leads him down between her gorgeously thick thighs—thighs that he really would not mind wrapped around his head. And there’s a thought. 

“Obi-Wan,” she whines plaintively. His fingers toy with the thick curls and the skin beneath, drawing ever-encroaching arcs around the place her whimpers are pleading with him to get a move on and _touch._

“You’re beautiful, Anakin,” he tells her sincerely. She shifts in his lap and bites her lip, and he takes great pleasure in watching each of her thoughts play across her face as plain as day. “Gorgeous. Wonderful. My darling.”

“Obi-Wan!” she protests with greater insistence. His thumb slides down and presses against the edge of her clit and she gasps sharply. Brokenly. It’s musical. 

Obi-Wan flips them over easily. Anakin lands on her back on the bed and bounces a little, laughing, her hair flyaway and trailing off the pillow. Obi-Wan smiles and begins to pull the t-shirt up over her head and she grabs at it, yanking it away and flinging it onto the floor. Her naked form flexes below him now, ethereal in the moonlight and just as strong, hardened and disciplined as his own. Obi-Wan kisses her lips and then her cheek, down her jaw and neck until he can lave his tongue in the hollow of her collar bones. His fingers tease both the sweat-slick crease of one of her thighs and the quickly-hardening peak of a dark nipple, waiting for his mouth to make its slow journey downwards. He stops to take each of them into his mouth in turn, swirling his tongue and flicking until she writhes, until she’s grasping at his hair and pushing him down. He complies, of course, excitement quirking his lips up at the corners when she twitches with every grazing touch. 

The folds of Anakin’s cunt are well on the way to dripping wet. Obi-Wan slides a few fingers between them to tease her and she jerks up into them, not-so-silently begging them inside. Obi-Wan does prod one of them at her entrance, testing his welcome before sliding deeply inside. Her heat is tight and gorgeously soft around him, spasming with each new twist and twitch of movement. He pulls it out and slides it back in again, stroking against her walls while the first knuckle of his thumb strays dangerously close to her clit. 

Unable to help himself any longer, Obi-Wan lowers his mouth to gently take the petal of one of her labia into his mouth, tonguing along the ridges that he soon finds out make her squeak and tremble. He works a second finger inside her carefully, twisting them together and letting his nose and palm bump incidentally against her clit again.

“Force, _please,”_ she gasps again. He hums in response, his gaze drawn up past her arching chest to the hazy, exhilarated look she has trained on him. She jerks when he draws back to flick his tongue quickly and sparingly over her clit for mere seconds before returning to her folds. He makes sure to keep curling and thrusting the fingers inside her while she grinds herself against his face, revelling in the sweet, high-pitched noises they tease out of her. 

It’s a heady feeling to have all of Anakin’s attention focused solely on him, and while it’s one he’s grown quite used to normally, he’s certainly never had it quite like this. Right now _he_ is the one making her feel this way, making her feelings in the Force flare around them. It winds around his body like a sentient ribbon and draws him inexplicably closer to her, encouraging him as he adds a third finger and twists all of them until they’re in up to his knuckles. She keens and pulls on his hair and he knows she is close, so licks straight up around his hand to take her clit back into his mouth and sucks.

“Mm, ah—Obi-Wan, oh, _gods!”_ Anakin stretches nearly entirely off the bed before she relaxes and goes limp in his arms, panting. “Gods,” she repeats. “Gods, Obi-Wan, I _love_ you.”

“And I, you,” Obi-Wan replies thickly through the knot in his throat. He sits up and removes his hand from inside her as gently as he can. She groans and pulls up her knees, providing him a spectacular view of just how wrecked and twitching she is before reaching up with a lazy hand to convince him back towards her. He goes more than willingly, lowering himself back down onto the bed beside her and smoothing his clean hand down her sweat-slick side. The joyous love in her smile glows in both the starlight and the Force and proves infectious—before he knows it Obi-Wan is positively grinning along with her when he pulls her in to kiss.

“You need to wash your face, old man,” she snickers against his mouth. 

“And whose fault is that?” he asks her, but winds his arms around her waist with no intention of getting up or moving for the next few minutes at least.

“Mine,” she murmurs. Her hands frame his face, her touch careful and soft as she studies him lovingly. “All mine. I’m so happy, Obi-Wan.”

“I know, dearest, I know. I am too.”

While Anakin slips away to use the refresher Obi-Wan has a short few minutes to consider the weight of his actions. To know and understand that there is no going back from this. To argue that they’re already wonderfully and irreversibly attached to one another, whether they or the Code like it or not. To briefly skim over the horrors of the Council’s possible reactions if they were to ever find out, all of which are pushed completely and succinctly out of mind when Anakin returns to the bed and wriggles up close to him. He smiles and holds her close again, wiping his mouth of the things she had complained of before feathering small kisses down her neck. She is settled, serene, and the Force sings more clearly to him than it has in a long, long time.

Their moment of quiet stretches into long, comfortable minutes, before Anakin pipes up again.

“Admit it, though,” she says. “You were jealous when you saw Lando was flirting with me.”

“I was _uneasy_ when you let him touch you,” he corrects.

“You were jealous. You so were.”

“And you dream of murder every time Ventress so much as even thinks about me, I’m sure.”

“I think _she’s_ a little different, Master. Han and Lando haven't tried to kill us yet. Well, no—they didn’t actually _mean_ to when they did.”

He hums and closes his eyes, settling against the pillows and tucking her head under his chin. “Are you going to talk about my innumerous discretions all night, dear one, or will we get some sleep before you have to be up to supervise younglings in the morning?”

“I suppose we can sleep,” Anakin allows, yawning. She reaches down to their ankles to pull the blankets back over them. “It doesn’t mean you’re off the hook, though. I want to know everything.”

“And we shall have plenty of time for all of that,” Obi-Wan promises. He turns his head and kisses her hair as she settles back down with a smile. They’ll have the rest of their lives for all of that if he has anything to do about it. He’s certain the human radiator in his arms will have some choice things to say to anyone who tries to stop them.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr!](https://silverxsakura.tumblr.com/)


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